If I Had A Heart
by Fififjonka
Summary: A cold heart is a dead heart. And some that seems like made of stone can be capable of great love. When Thranduil's life is in utmost danger, it is his son who comes to his aid and he learns many unexpected things about him and his beloved mother, the Queen of Woodland Realm and why his father never speaks of her. Sequel to my other fic "Night Of The Illiara Star. R&R, please!
1. At Dawn

**Disclaimer: This story doesn't entirely folow the canon history of pre-hobbit events, some of the battles or characters I made up.**

_The moon didn't shine that night. The plains were drowning in darkness and the air was cold. A pale horse was racing across the wilderness, shining like a single star on a black sky. It was carrying a rider in a dark coat, who was clutching the reins, prodding the horse to run even faster. The echo of the horse's hoofs was rumbling against the ground covered in soft moss, soil flying from underneath the horse's legs._

_"Rima ten'ta," the rider whispered into the horse's ear. A lock of white hair slipped from the hood as the horse sped up through the night._

* * *

That morning was sharp as a blade and cold as ice. Ground was covered in a tiny layer of frost and the sky was full of torn grey clouds. High peaks of the black mountains surrounding the wasteland were hidden in mist and there was unpleasant silence all around. Two riders appeared in the mouth of the valley, stopping in front of it and watching it quietly.

One of them had black hair with several silver strands and eyes of the same colour and thay were the eyes of an eagle, attentive and prudent. His armour had the colour of copper, although it was made of something much more valuable.

"This silence is an echo of dismay," he said in elvish. The other man was taller and his hair was white as the frost on the ground. He was wearing dark armour with leaves carved on the shoulders. He looked up at the sky, his icy blue eyes narrowed.

"How can you tell, Calahir?" he asked, his voice calm.

"I have been in many battles, my lord."

"So have I," the other man said.

"Of course. But it is not me who is the young one here," Calahir said.

The other man gave him a side look and ice flashed in his eyes for a brief moment. He returned his gaze back to the mountains towering in front of them.

"Let's go back," he said then. "We attack tomorrow as it was planned. Their numbers are weakened. We will crush them for good."

The enemy army was hidden in the mountains, waiting. They wouldn't fight in daylight and the elven king wouldn't risk fighting in the tunnels of the rocks. He knew they would crawl out once the sun was hidden, he knew they would attack again to protect their lair. The festering and hellish realm of Angmar. Tomorrow promised little daylight which was giving the orcs strength, even if facing the ultimate defeat. And the king wouldn't let them escape. He would see not a single orc would walk alive from there. Not a single one.

They returned to the encampment where the three armies of elves were resting, each sent from a different kingdom. Their numbers were tremendous and the king overlooked hundreds of tents covering the wasteland, the shiny spear points of the warriors glimmering in the otherwise grey and cold day.

"The victory is ours, Calahir," the king said, more to himself, though. Calahir gave him a thoughtful look and it seemed he wanted to say something but then he just nodded once. He would not admit his worries to his lord.

The king let his horse outside a tent of golden cloth, walking inside.

On the provisional bed there was a she-elf sitting, her look fixed upon the king. Her eyes had the colour of winter mist, greyish and piercing but unlike the king's, there was no cold in them. Her face was even paler than his and her hair was gold.

"What did you see?" she asked him.

"I saw the orcs waiting," he said. "They know we would attack tomorrow."

She didn't take her eyes off him.

"What they don't know," the king continued, "is that a dwarf army is on the move and will arrive in the morning."

He looked her in the grey eyes.

"The victory is ours, Nairë."

She remained silent for a while and then a small smile appeared on her face.

"The king never doubts," she said only and he raised an eyebrow, a feeble hint of disapproval in his eyes.

"There is no reason to doubt," he answered and his tone was sharp. "We outnumber them, we surpass them in any possible way. They cannot win."

Nairë didn't reply and the king approached her, still with the same ice in his blue eyes. She had to tilt her head backward to not break their eye contact.

"Do you not trust me, my queen?"

"Of course I trust you," she said firmly. "I trust in your heart. I am only not sure you have taken all possibilities."

"I have," he said shortly. "Tomorrow we will go back to our lands with the knowledge the mountains were cleared once for all with the orc filth not spreading to our kingdom ever again."

He paused then, shifting his look over Nairë's features. Suddenly the ice in his eyes melted.

"And because of that my heart would be more at peace if you stayed here. Do not go to the battle."

Nairë smirked softly.

"You are still trying to make me stay. Do not try anymore. My place is by your side and that is where I will be tomorrow. Our son stayed home. That should be enough."

"He could fight, though," the king said more to himself and Nairë frowned slightly.

"He _will_ see enough battles, blood and death. We can spare him this one," she said and the king stopped arguing with her. He raised a hand and touched her cheek gently. He spared such a warm gesture only for her and she knew it.

"Besides I would not let you go alone," she said and then it was the king who was smirking softly.

"Like I need saving?"

"Maybe…" she said teasingly and his smirk changed into a small smile. They were standing facing each other, locked in each other's eyes. Both tall and slender, both strong and noble. Nairë raised her head and her face was once again tense.

"I long to be back home, Thranduil," she said very quietly. "This place brings coldness into my heart."


	2. Messenger

The poisonous evilness of Angmar had driven all creatures away so the night was silent and the silence was heavy and uncomfortable. Nairë was lying next to her king and she was looking up at the tent ceiling. Wearing light night gown with embroidered ornaments of leaves and with her hair spread on the pillow. She was breathing slowly and her hand was resting on Thranduil's shoulder. He was not sleeping, albeit he had his eyes closed. But Nairë knew he was aware of her every breath, of every shadow on her face or worry in her eyes.

And the seeping coldness would not stop. It was paralysing her as if she wanted to breathe in and she couldn't. It was worse every time she shifted her gaze towards Angmar.

She looked at Thranduil and the feeling vanished. She studied his face and the hard expression he had. She knew if he opened his eyes the same hardness would be looking at her from them but it had already been hundreds and hundreds years she had learned to see through it.

They were always saying that king Thranduil was cold hearted and had little to no warmness in is soul. So unlike his father…

"What are you thinking of?" he asked without opening his eyes. Nairë looked back at the ceiling.

"Time…" she said silently. "It changes everything. And – at the same time – it changes nothing at all… We were given an immortal life. Perhaps we forget to cherish the time as we should. The present moment… When we were given so much…"

Thranduil opened his eyes and looked at her. There was unsaid concern written deep down in the icy blue orbs.

"But don't worry, my dear," she said and held a hand on his cheek. Thranduil didn't answer, nor did the worries in his eyes seem to diminish. He leaned above her and kissed her lips very gently. Rarely would he do that. Nairë ran her fingers over the delicate ornaments on his robes. She slipped her little hand under them, touching his cold skin, feeling his muscles tense a little under her touch. Thranduil embraced her in his arms and bowed so his lips were touching her neck. She could feel his breath against her skin as his hand was slowly making its way up her back.

"I will not let anything harm you," he said in his low voice. _"Ma emma lath…"_

Nairë laid her head on his chest and listened to the calm beating of his heart. They spent the rest of the night like that, lying close to each other, their hearts beating as one.

With the first feeble light of the morning the tent door opened and Calahir walked inside.

"Excuse me, my king, but I'm here to inform you the dwarf army has arrived. King Thrór sent a messenger, he wants to meet you on the Black Hill."

Thranduil frowned and got up from the bed, shooting Calahir a glare.

"I did not allow you to enter, Calahir. Do not do that again without my permission," he said coolly. Calahir bowed apologetically.

"My pardons."

Thranduil walked over his armour and started putting it on.

"Alert our men," he said. "We leave in an hour."

"Yes, my king."

When Nairë got up, Thranduil walked to her, taking her hand. He touched the necklace of white diamonds on her neck.

"Keep this today," he said briefly as he was already hiding the necklace under Nairë's robes.

As the army gathered in formation, Nairë got on her horse. She had her hair in a long white braid and she wore silver armour emphasizing her slim frame. She looked over them and saw hundreds of eyes looking back at her. By her side Thranduil was watching silently, his blue eyes unreadable.

"Protectors of our lands!" Nairë said loudly and her voice was like the voice of a storm. Her eyes darkened.

"Today we destroy the enemy who is tormenting us. Once for all! Come, my friends, for it is a day to celebrate!"

She prodded her horse and together with her king she started moving down the hill, walking in the lead. Grey clouds were running on the morning sky, driven by the north winds, when the elven armies were marching towards Angmar and the mountain Gundabad.

* * *

"You seem to read a lot these days, young prince."

An older brown-haired elf walked into the Beech library that was built in the memory of Oropher, Thranduil's fallen father.

"First, I read as much as usual and second, I am not young," Legolas said and didn't even try to hide his annoyance.

"To me you are," the other elf said with a smirk and Legolas merely returned to the book.

"Everything seems _young_ compared to you, Elensar," he said with the annoyance still in his voice. Elensar smiled with mild amusement.

"You are not the first to tell me that," Elensar noted but Legolas had already been pretending ignorance.

"The young prince looks sad today…" Elensar continued talking as if he was only saying his thoughts aloud.

"Sad?" Legolas repeated and that time he raised and put the book aside, walking over the white railing embroiled in high beech trees.

"Stop calling me young, please, Elensar," Legolas said. "And I am not sad either."

"Upset maybe," Elensar said and his brown eyes looked at Legolas knowingly. Legolas narrowed his eyes but didn't deny it.

"Would you like to share what is troubling you, my prince?"

Elensar waited patiently for the prince to express what was burdening his heart. He walked over the railing and looked down from the trees.

"I could fight in a battle," he said then. "I'm old enough; I'm almost five hundred years old. There are nations that would consider it quite _a lot_. And men much younger than me went with my father's army. What will other kings think of me?"

Legolas turned over and shook his head.

"Don't wear that wise smile of yours," he said and Elensar laughed briefly.

"I seem like an annoyance to you, I apologize," he said but Legolas had already been thinking of something else.

"Why does my mother think I am still not fit to battle? Does she have so little faith in me? I have proved my skills many times before, will I have to wait another five hundred years to be _capable?_"

"I understand, young prince. But it wasn't your mother who decided you would stay. It was your father."

Legolas looked at him with utter surprise.

"My father?"

"The queen didn't protest, though, but it was his wish."

Legolas couldn't understand. That was even worse. So his _father_ didn't trust in his skills. His father thought he wasn't ready. If it was his mother Legolas could have at least blame her maternity feelings but with his father…

"I guess I know what you are thinking, young prince."

"Really?" Legolas muttered. "Then you also think I'm too young and incompetent, just like my father believes."

"Oh, I don't really think that was the reason he left you behind," Elensar said. "You fail to notice, my prince, but your father is quite protective of you. He was most probably more worried about you going with him to the battle than your mother."

Legolas was reluctant to believe his words. As far as he could remember, there hadn't been a single moment to validate Elensar's claim.

"That's a foolish idea," he said eventually. Elensar kept watching him with the lenient expression that Legolas very much disliked.

"Many and many years ago, about five hundred or so," Elensar started talking calmly, "I remember a new-born little prince with golden hair, the same colour as his mother. He was and still is deeply loved by both his parents but when he was too small to remember, he had a beautiful white crib in the crown of and old oak. His mother was with him there, playing and talking to him. In the evenings when night started slowly spreading above the trees, wearing his red coat and the mighty crown, the king himself would come to the crib, unseen and unnoticed. He would raise the little prince, this little new-born baby and he would gently hold him in his arms, his beloved son, while the night would quietly proceed with the moonlight shinning into the crown of the old oak."

Elensar fell silent and Legolas couldn't take his eyes off him, his words still echoing in his head. It seemed impossible at first but somehow Legolas knew it was true, the caring look of icy blue eyes, the strong protective arms holding him, the soft white hair brushing against his face… He always thought it was just an old dream but… it was an old, very old memory instead.

"Elensar, what had – "

"Prince Legolas! Prince Legolas!"

Legolas immediately rushed to the stairs, seeing a young elven captain running towards him. He was breathing heavily as if he was running all the way without any rest.

"What is it?" he asked. The elf stopped and there was dread in his eyes.

"Please, you must come with me. There was a tragedy…"

* * *

Second addition, hope you liked and don't forget to review, please. Thanks!


	3. Dare

_The Night of Naemaela was a feast of the named star, celebrated on the fifth day in July when nights were warm and air full of rich and beautiful scents. Joy, peace and laughter filled the Woodland Realm and there were lights shining everywhere, making the trees and buildings look like made of exquisite fragile glass. People were happy and at ease, drinking their precious mead, standing in the lights and looking at the sky._

_At the gathering place down around the tree roots there were several elves singing and playing musical instrument. The music was touching and pure. Many elves were standing close by, listening and letting the music embrace their souls._

_"Look," an elven woman said quietly to her friend. "The prince has returned."_

_It was true; the elven prince was walking on a wooden bridge, obviously not intending to join them. He was wearing long dark-green coat with red embroidery and he paid no attention to them at all. The other elven woman was watching him thoughtfully. She had golden hair of waist length and silvery robes with flower ornaments._

_"Prince Thranduil!" she said loudly. "Come and join us in celebrating!"_

_"Nairë!" her friend said silently, but Nairë ignored her. Thranduil stopped at the same moment the musicians stopped playing, everyone turning over and looking at him. He seemed considerably angered by Nairë's insolence._

_"I don't see a reason I should do that," he said very coldly. Nairë looked him in the eyes._

_"Maybe if you weren't blind to everything around you you would see it," she said and that time many elves looked shocked or even scared. Thranduil narrowed his eyes and anger was flashing in them._

_"Follow me," he said sharply and walked away. Nairë raised an eyebrow but did what she was told. He led her to one of the royal chambers and stopped there, pouring himself a cup of mead. He didn't say a word the whole time while Nairë was waiting. She couldn't help herself but think of how arrogant the elven prince was and how she disliked his ignorance of others. It was even worse when his father wasn't here._

_"I believe your name is Nairë," he said after a couple more silent minutes._

_"It is, my prince," she agreed calmly._

_"Do you have any particular reason to act so impudently? Because I have no tolerance for such things," he continued, still not facing her. His voice was dripping with cold anger._

_"That depends, my prince," Nairë said. "Do you have any particular reason to act so disdainfully? I think many people would welcome your presence at the feast."_

_"What would people _welcome_ is not my concern," Thranduil said, disinterested. _

_"It should be."_

_"Quiet!" Thranduil turned, his eyes piercing her, his voice rough. He approached her so he was looking right into her face._

_"Who are you to tell me what I should do?! Don't forget who_ I am _and mind your tongue or you may meet some consequences."_

_Nairë managed to stay calm, although she was – perhaps – a little concerned. She didn't break their eye contact, feeling the chilling rage pulsing in Thranduil's body as he was standing so close to her, the tall and mighty prince, towering above her, his pale complexion a reflexion of his soul._

_"What would you do?" she asked quietly. "Would you lock me up? Or banish? Only because I said what everybody thinks? Everybody thinks there is no warmness in your heart."_

_There was a slight hint of surprise in his otherwise impassive face._

_"I wanted to prove them wrong," Nairë added. Thranduil remained quiet for a while, his eyes still narrowed. He turned away eventually._

_"Leave," he said, his tone impersonal. "I don't want to see you again. That was my last warning."_

* * *

As the day was passing, light was fading away too. All three elven armies were formed in front of the mountain Gundabad, waiting. Then, slowly, the orcs started appearing, crawling out of the mountains, reminding of spiders or other insect living under stones in rotting leaves. They were screaming and shouting with wrath, their repulsive voices echoing around. They were waving their weapons in rage, roaring and spitting. More and more of them showed up and many were still hidden in the mountains. The elven king was watching them with sheer disgust.

"Hideous," he uttered quietly but his voice was filled with hatred. He unwittingly got a hold of the hilt of his sword. "This orc dirt must be purified."

Nairë gave him a short look but didn't say anything. She too focused on the orcs swarming in front of them.

"They are a part of this world," she said. Thranduil shook his head with disapproval.

"They won't be anymore," he said. He raised his eyes to the sky, searching the clouds. The orcs' bellow was louder and louder as their numbers were increasing and their craving for killing was greater. It was obvious they despised them the same, Nairë could see it clearly in their black hollow eyes. Such hatred that couldn't be measured. Out of the sudden she felt the familiar cold stab in her heart again. She breathed in slowly, calming down. Thranduil kept watching the sky, looking for the signal they had settled with the dwarven king Thrór for attack. Their horses were restlessly stamping and snorting.

At the moment a black raven cawed shrilly above their heads. Thranduil's right arm went swiftly to the air and he shouted: _"Gwaem!"_

As the three armies started quickly marching towards the orcs preparing to attack and Thranduil with Nairë were riding their horses in the lead, the queen tried to drive away the haunting feeling in her chest.

Something wasn't right…


	4. Funeral

_The news travelled fast, like wild birds. Everybody had known long before they returned. Sorrow spread above the trees of the Woodland Realm, even birds stopped chirping and the air was filled with sung elegies. People wore dark robes and they all mourned the death of their beloved king._

_When the rest of the army arrived, they brought the king's dead body back to be laid to eternal rest in his home. Thranduil was in the lead of the army and he had still been wearing full armour when he crossed the borders of Mirkwood. People gathered behind the Grate gate to express their sadness and sympathy to the prince. But Thranduil only nodded shortly before disappearing to his chambers. Nobody saw the prince several days. He didn't say a word to anyone. He didn't speak about the battle, the terrible loss of elven lives. Or the loss of his father…_

_Oropher was then buried deep in Mirkwood on a small glade. A big cairn was built on his grave. The day after his burial, his son Thranduil was crowned as the new king of the Woodland Realm._

_The second night since the coronation, Nairë was taking a late evening walk. She was breathing in the moist air, looking up at the stars. She knew the king's light had already joined them, yet she still felt very sad. Suddenly she stopped. She saw someone walking among the dark trees ahead of her. She left the walls of the Woodland Realm that night to walk freely in wild Mirkwood but she didn't expect to meet anyone else._

_It was an elf, definitely. Nairë followed him. It didn't take her long to realize he was walking to the king's grave. And then she had also known who it was. His grey robes moved inaudibly, his red coat sliding on the ground as he was walking through the forest, unheard and unnoticed, like an apparition._

_Thranduil stepped on the glade that was bathing in moonlight and approached his father's grave. He reached for the cairn and touched the highest stone with the long pale fingers. His white hair was glimmering in the silver moonlight, moving subtly in the night breeze. Nairë could clearly see his profile, with the prominent nose and chin. His eyes were closed. Never before had she seen his face reflecting such sorrow. He thought he was alone so he allowed himself to show it…_

_For some reason Nairë didn't go away although she knew she should. The unseen witness of Thranduil's grief._

_At the moment Thranduil stiffened. He let his arm fall from the cairn to the dagger hanging from his belt and he quickly turned, his eyes searching the forest._

_"Who is there?" he asked strictly. Nairë stepped into the light._

_"You?" he said, more surprised than angry. It was the first time they spoke to each other since he had told her to stay away._

_"I apologize," Nairë said. "I was taking a walk and crossed your path."_

_She encouraged herself and walked on the glade while Thranduil was watching her with his bright blue eyes. They immediately clouded with the usual coldness._

_"I didn't have a chance to tell you – "_

_"Don't," he stopped her. "I know what you want to say. You don't have to."_

_"I _want to_," she said, shaking her head lightly. "Your father was a great king. He will be remembered with love and honoured with respect."_

_She briefly touched his arm. The coldness in the king's eyes withdrew for a moment. Nairë noticed then how Thranduil's delicate features resembled those of his father._

_"Thank you," Thranduil said frankly and Nairë unwittingly raised her eyebrows a little but then she smiled and nodded._

_"Only I am sorry I disobeyed your order to _stay away_," she said. Thranduil narrowed his eyes slightly but then his face relaxed and composure returned to his expression._

_"We shall see…" he said calmly and they walked back home together._

* * *

It was a fierce battle. The orcs seemed to have endless energy and they kept attacking them with new strength, paying no attention to their losses. Thranduil was still on his horse, his face an image of the battle heat and his terrible wrath. He was slaying numbers of orcs like it was nothing, his sword black of their blood. Nairë wasn't far away from him fighting too, stabbing numerous orcs with her sword and cutting their heads.

Why wouldn't they give up? They were outnumbered. What was keeping them here?

"Nairë!' Thranduil appeared right behind her, decapitating an orc who wanted to slay her. She turned, catching his upset look but she merely turned, blocking a powerful blow and pushing the orc away, grunting with effort.

Suddenly, more and more orcs started flowing out of the mountains, obviously waiting to later attack. Nairë slayed three more orcs and prodded her horse to a group of six or seven, killing them all in several swift sword blows. Thranduil ordered a formation to block the incoming orcs and at the moment, the dwarf army showed up on a hill behind them. Dwarfs roared with battle thrill, raising their axes and many orcs stiffened with shock, giving the elves opportunity to cut their throats.

As the dwarfs joined the battle with excited uproar, Nairë drew up her horse's reins and stared at the empty place in the mountains' shadows just a few feet from the battlefield. The stab ached again in her heart.

The shadows were moving. They were moving towards them…


	5. Liar

Nairë felt she was watched. During the dim hours of evenings, when she so loved to wonder on her own, there was another pair of eyes fixed on her. She knew whose eyes those were. And she could not deny she liked the gaze on her.

Sometimes she would catch him looking directly at her and he would turn away after a while.

Nairë saw Thranduil's coldness wasn't melting away after his father's death but it was turned into hardness instead. But as a king he understood some things would have to change. He started attending the most important feasts and started talking to people more often. Those years were difficult for him and Nairë had become his confidant, in a way. She didn't know why he had chosen her but the truth was she knew some things Thranduil hadn't said to anyone else.

But nobody else dared to approach him in the way Nairë did either.

"Good evening, my king," she said when she walked up the stairs to Thranduil's chambers. He had left a few weeks ago to take care of a big outraging orc group that was dangerously invading the north of Mirkwood but had returned that day. He hadn't been there yet, though, and Nairë looked around, focusing on the majestic throne, the symbol of Thranduil's power.

"You are early," his voice echoed behind her and she turned, meeting his icy blue orbs. His look was piercing as always but there wasn't the typical coldness. Not when he was looking at her.

For the first second Nairë saw him, her heart shivered in a very strange way and she had never felt like that before. She noticed, as if for the first time, Thranduil's broad shoulders and his tall, slender figure in the golden robes, the noble features of his face, and the depths of his bright eyes.

"We haven't seen each other for a long time," she said eventually and his gaze wasn't leaving her face. Why was he looking at her like that? It almost seemed like… It almost seemed he too was _pleased _to see her. Could she be imagining it? They were used to seeing each other almost every day, could it be only because of the long time they didn't?

"So I came sooner," she added. Thranduil didn't say anything but poured her a cup of the best mead in the Woodland Realm. Nairë took it with a small nod.

"I was worried," she admitted then. "About you."

Thranduil appeared surprised by her statement, turning over his shoulder.

"You shouldn't have been," he said calmly. But Nairë _was_. Her heart was telling her the obvious. There was a special reason why she was so worried. _Too_ worried.

"Why? You wouldn't worry about those you care about?" she asked casually, holding her cup in a raised arm.

"I don't have any reason to worry," Thranduil said in a firm tone and Nairë smirked.

"Words of a true king," she said mockingly yet her tone was light. But Thranduil shot her a glare instantly.

"Watch your tongue," he uttered, albeit his tone wasn't as harsh as it could be, Nairë raised an eyebrow.

"Oh," she smiled bitterly. "I am sorry."

The irony of her voice could not be undetected and Thranduil's eyes narrowed as he was standing in front of her.

"For upsetting the king," she continued, "who never worries. He never worries about people he promised to keep safe, about the land he swore to protect, about those he loves…"

Nairë was still holding the cup as she was slowly walking towards him and their eyes were stuck in each other's and Thranduil's hand was clutching the golden cup so intensely it started distorting.

"For upsetting the king who is too arrogant to admit he could actually worry about anything… Whose heart is so _obdurate_ there is no space for affection…"

Nairë had already been so close to him she could hear his breath and feel his anger. She leaned forward and her lips were almost touching his left ear when she spoke again, silently, his white hair brushing against her cheek.

"Or maybe," she whispered into his ear, "this great king is _afraid_ to care…"

Thranduil started, hissing inaudibly.

"Maybe," Nairë wouldn't stop, her low voice vibrating, "he thinks it's a weakness – "

She had never had a chance to finish it. Thranduil moved in a flash, his cup falling on the ground and the mead splashing at their feet. He grabbed Nairë around her waist and pulled her close to him, pressing her against his chest. Their faces were almost touching and Nairë's heart started beating frantically.

Thranduil was looking down at her for a few more seconds, his eyes roving over her face, his arms embracing her firmly and Nairë didn't try to free from him.

"You liar…" he said quietly and bowed, kissing her lips and closing his eyes.

* * *

The king was fighting in the battle uproar along with the queen by his side, both the elven rulers surrounded by orcs, elves and dwarfs. It was a fierce battle but it was slowly bending on their side as the dead orcs were piling under the elvish and dwarven feet.

Nairë's face was strained with exhaustion, yet her slim figure was moving nimbly, the armour shinning weakly. Thranduil was frowning with exertion, his sword not missing a single target, his white hair copying arcs every time he quickly turned around. To his men he was like an embodiment of hope and victory and he and his queen were giving them strength to keep fighting.

"Nairë!" Thranduil called her name as the queen slashed an orc from head to toes, his black blood spattering in the air.

_"Tira ten' rashwe!"_

Thranduil prodded his horse to go and help his queen as she got surrounded by more than a dozen enraged orcs. And then he saw it as in slow motion. Nairë taking a deep breath, raising her right arm with her sword, orcs trying to throw her down off her horse… His heart almost stopped.

And at the moment the earth moved beneath their feet.

"Nairë!"

She looked him in the eyes right at the moment the earth started tearing under them.

* * *

Thanks for reading and comment please so I'll know what you think of it! The comment button is just a click away!


	6. Burn

She was lying with her eyes closed, listening to the noises of the forest life. Birds, insect, animals close and far away, bubbling streams, branches moving in the soft wind… It was a beautiful and calm evening, the sun was still shining but the night was slowly coming. Nairë didn't open her eyes when she heard very silent sound of steps. Thranduil could walk unheard but not unheard to Nairë.

She raised, aware she knew about her but he was staying in the tree shadows. She made her way to the small silver lake in the middle of the forest where she would usually take an evening bath.

It used to be a sole habit of hers but it hadn't been sole anymore.

When she reached the lake the sun had already been gone but the air was still warm and moist. She undressed at the bank, leaving her dress on the moss on the ground. She stepped into the cold, glimmering water, her blond hair spreading around on the water surface.

When she was in the middle of the lake, she turned and saw him standing on the lake bank, watching her attentively. His eyes were fixed upon her and did not move away. His white hair was shining in the dim evening light, his tall and slender figure protruding in the tree shadows. He was touching one of the tree stems with his long, pale fingers. As they were looking at each other, Nairë's heart once again started beating faster. She was slowly getting used to feeling that way if Thranduil was close to her.

_"__Á tulë,"_ she said and Thranduil kept observing her. Then he slowly started undressing as well, letting his robes fall beside hers. His skin was snow white, his blue eyes focused on her naked body. Nairë felt his gaze. He walked into the lake to her, rippling the water surface lightly.

When he reached her, she tilted her back a little and saw his lips curling into a loving, gentle smile.

_"__Mell nín,"_ he said quietly. Nairë could help but smiled too and he wrapped his arms around her naked body, pulling her towards him. His lips were brushing against the skin on her neck. She shivered at his hot breath, as his fingers were travelling over her back up to her hair.

"I knew you would come," she said.

"My beloved…" Thranduil whispered, kissing her gently. Everytime he was with her his icy mask melted and Nairë could be with the man beneath. A man she loved deeply.

When they finished the bath they stayed lying on the lake bank, holding their hands. Thranduil was stroking Nairë's wet hair softly. They didn't need to speak; they would just lay close, cherishing each other's presence. Nairë bowed her head so her chin was resting on Thranduil's chest and she would let his heartbeat lead her to sleep.

It was only a few months later Thranduil took Nairë as his queen and a few years later she would give a birth to their son, Legolas.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The ground shook again and Thranduil stopped his horse, looking around, searching for his wife. Luck was on their side. Until then. He knew something was very wrong and he could see it in the faces of the furious orcs, they weren't frightened or cowardly anymore, most of them were smiling cruelly and their eyes were flashing with bloodlust.

"Nairë!" he shouted his wife's name. He had seen her just a moment ago, fighting against several orcs but she had disappeared suddenly.

Thranduil's heart shivered with fear and dread as he was turning around to catch a sight of her.

"Thranduil!"

He followed her voice and finally saw her a few metres on his left. She was outnumbered greatly and the orcs circled around her, pushing her further from the battle centre. Thranduil prodded his horse to get to her but a wall of orcs stopped him. Fiercely he was cutting their heads but as soon as he killed them others stepped in their place, preventing him from getting close to her.

And at that moment, the ground shook for the last time. Everything froze for a second and Thranduil took a deep breath, turning his horse and looking on the left. In the shadow of the mountain, ground was moving. Tearing and cracking. Something was underneath. It was roaring. Getting closer and closer. And then it spurted suddenly, like a giant bean sprout. It was rising more and more into the air, casting a long shadow over them all. Thranduil tilted his head backwards and he unwittingly widened his eyes a bit.

Not possible… How could that be…?

Wyrms…

He could see three of them already crawled out of the ground but could feel more of them moving under their feet.

"Retreat!" he shouted. The monstrous worms were opening their mouths and terrible bellowing could be heard, making his men and the dwarfs shiver. Orcs were retreating into the wyrms' shadows while the worms were roaring and convulsing.

And suddenly one of them opened its mouth and a blast of blue fire came out of it. It burned everything it touched and Thranduil saw ten men turn ashes right in front of him.

"Archers!" he called out. "Kill them!"

A cloud of arrows flew over their heads, all of them hitting their aim but the worm only hissed painfully and another blast of fire came, killing even more men.

Thranduil was still desperately trying to get to Nairë and take her to safety. The orcs finally parted and Thranduil sped to his wife. He could see her. She was battling five orcs, they pulled her down off her horse.

"Nairë, run!"

She saw him. She stabbed two orcs at once and jumped over them, running towards him. She held her arm stretched and he reached so he could catch her. She was already so close he could see the fear in her eyes. The blood on her robes. The matted hair flying behind her.

"Thranduil…"

She froze where she stood when a dark shadow crept above them. A large wyrm with scaled skin and thorns on its spine, with red eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth. Thranduil saw Nairë's eyes widening with horror as she looked up at the beast. It opened its mouth and Thranduil knew what was going to happen in a split second.

"Nairë!"

The blue blast blinded him but he could still see Nairë, his queen, standing in its way. The fire burned her like a dry leaf. She was gone before he could even blink. Just like that. The only thing that was left of her was a burned body on the ground. Black as coal. With a sword near her right arm. With the silver armour still shining on the ashes.

"King! King, you must run away!"

Their voices sounded distant like from under water. Thranduil slowly closed his eyes. As if from far away he heard someone calling his name frantically.

"Run, king! You must run away!"

The air was burning. He couldn't move. Pain was taking over him and he heard no more.

* * *

Hope you liked, Legolas is coming back in the next chapter. Read and review, please, the button is just a click away! Tell me what you think!


	7. Remedy

Legolas's horse flew over the wastelands, his legs barely touching the ground. Legolas could not say when it was the last time he stopped for a break if he ever had. His horse was one of the finest animals trained in the Woodland Realm and he picked him up for he knew he was the best and fastest stallion.

The landscape was changing in front of his eyes, lowlands into highlands, meadows into rocks and mountains, forests into pine bushes and yellow grass. It was late autumn and trees were leafless, each morning covered in glimmering white frost. The ground was wet and grey, rich smell of the earth rising from it underneath the shoes of the horse.

Days were short but nights lasted long, with the fragile moonlight reflecting in ponds and wet leaves. Legolas was hurrying the horse over marshes and fields and his mind was focused only on his task.

The news was still too fresh to sink and he just could not believe it to be true. His mother could not have died. His mother, the Queen of the Woodland Realm, such a wise and skilled elder she-elf, Legolas refused to accept it. She would have fought back. She would not just disappear. The messenger must have been mistaken, he had been given wrong information.

At the dawn of the third day of his journey Legolas had finally reached the fields spreading under the Gundabad Mountain. And in spite of the battlefield being still many miles away, Legolas could already see the ruination. The ground was torn in pieces and stained with blood and blood could be felt in the freezing air. Corpses were scattered around – elves, dwarfs, orcs and many horses and dark, evil creatures used by the enemy. There were wide rounded holes in the ground on several spots and a painful stab ran through Legolas's chest as he remembered the messenger talking about terrible worm-like beasts sprouting from the ground and their breath was the fire of death.

The camp was two or so miles ahead and Legolas prodded the horse, although his fear had been building up in him and he dreaded what he would find out.

He passed by many dwarfs and elves, all of them wearing the same blank expression, until a higher elven officer noticed him.

"Prince Legolas!"

"Where is my mother?" Legolas asked. The elven officer did not reply but his face got paler.

"I asked you a question," Legolas repeated, feeling the raising wave of anger.

"Prince Legolas."

Legolas turned. The elf who spoke was Calahir, the captain of his father's guard and his second-in-command.

"Calahir," Legolas said. "I want to know where my mother and father are."

Calahir caught the reins of Legolas's horse and asked him to dismount.

"With the deepest sorrow in my heart, prince Legolas, I must tell you the Queen is dead."

Legolas did not say anything. There was no possibility Calahir would lie to him. Yet… It could not be true…

"How?" he managed to ask.

"One of the wyrms burned her," Calahir said and his voice was dripping with sadness. Legolas closed his eyes and saw his mother's face in front of him. He felt Calahir's hand on his shoulder and did not move away, allowing him to be with him in the time of his grief.

"It is a great loss for us," Calahir added. "But please, prince, your help is needed now and there will be time to mourn later. Did you bring what you were asked to?"

Legolas nodded stiffly and turned as if waking up from a dream, taking a bottle from the sack on his saddle. It was an ancient remedy rarely used.

Calahir's face expressed relief as he took the bottle.

"Follow me, prince," he said. "The remedy is also for your father. He's been wounded badly."

"My father?"

Legolas looked up, a new stab of fear piercing his chest. He followed Calahir to the biggest tent whose sheets were marked with royal symbols.

The tent was dark except for the elven light placed around the provisional bed. The healer **Ionon** was bending above the King, who was laying on his back with his eyes closed and his face strained with pain. Legolas felt slightly ill when his eyes rested on the burned wound across his father's face.

Calahir handed **Ionon **the bottle and the healer took it, looking at Legolas with worries written deep in his eyes.

"It's like dragon fire," Ionon said. "The last hope is this remedy."

He opened the bottle, pouring the liquid into a small bowl, then took a white piece of cloth and dipped it in it while Legolas tried not to see his father's pallid face and his hands clutched in fists.

"This should bring relief," Ionon muttered, carefully laying the cloth over the dreadful looking wound. The King winced with a groan, his body tense, then he relaxed slowly and lay motionless, only his chest raising regularly.

Legolas's heart also stopped beating so frantically and he allowed himself to breathe out with ease.

"It should heal now," Ionon said. "I cannot say, though, if there would be any scarring."

Legolas gave a small nod and then turned at Calahir, meeting the old elf's eyes.

"Did you retrieve my mother's body? I would like to see her."

"I am sorry, prince," Calahir said. "She vanished."

His mother turned into dust, scattered over the wretched hills of the Gundabad Mountain.

"The winds will know," Calahir spoke by his side, "they will bring the ashes of the Queen back to her home."

But Legolas could not appreciate the words of comfort and sympathy. He sought privacy and went outside, the grim sky of steel grey was low, heavy with rain, the mist around freezing. Legolas went away, out of the camp and he did not care they won eventually. His mind was with his mother's spirit and he wished to see her at least one more time.

But he knew very well she had been gone and would never come back.

* * *

_After quite a long hiatus another take. Thank you for reading, hope you liked and please, drop a tiny comment!_


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